


Like You Do

by TheBasilRathbone



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, David Rose is a Good Person, Happy Ending, Healthy Relationships, Husbands Taking Care of One Another, M/M, Massage, Patrick Brewer loves David Rose, Patrick Brewer needs a hug, Post-Series, True Love, self-care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 07:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30052068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBasilRathbone/pseuds/TheBasilRathbone
Summary: He’s been holding his breath all evening, so strongly expecting some stern lecture or expression of David’s disappointment in him that it had never even occurred to him that the consequence of the biggest fuck-up of his professional career might only be a loving back rub from his husband.Or, Patrick has a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. David makes everything okay.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 28
Kudos: 238





	Like You Do

The fact that David had been tiptoeing around him for days was telling.

David was almost exclusively the one in their relationship prone to fits of dramatics and anxiety. But if he was annoyed at being usurped for that role this week, he was certainly too afraid to say anything.

It was the tail end of their expansion. The paperwork and renovations for the Rosebud Motel Group had come through all at once, and they had asked Rose Apothecary to be the official supplier for all thirty-six locations.

And while this expansion had exploded their business in the best possible way, it also left them scrambling to arrange for out-of-province vendors and couriers and contracts in time for the official launch.

David had taken on his role admirably, helping local vendors up their supplies and adjust their output to manage the surge in business as well as sourcing new products to supplement any limited resources.

Patrick, on the other hand, was struggling.

He normally had time to be thorough and precise, but the sheer volume of work that needed to be done was dizzying.

He’d spent every evening and weekend pouring over paperwork, and the lack of sleep (not to mention the complete decimation of their sex life) had him growing increasingly irritable as the weeks went on.

It was all temporary, he knew, but that didn’t help when he was still in the middle of it, barely looking up from his desk to so much as eat.

Jocelyn had kindly stepped in to help them run the store, glad for the extra income over the summer herself, but it still left David dealing with his regular store duties, his new responsibilities for the expansion, and the majority of the chores at home to deal with.

It was wearing on them both.

He was frustrated with himself, for being unable to learn and understand this new territory quickly enough, for struggling to cope with the intense workload when David seemed to keep his head above water, for being so irritable and lashing out at his husband for such stupid, insignificant things.

Every little hiccup started to feel like the end of the world, and he couldn’t help but notice David inventing an excuse to go and meet with a vendor when a phone call would do just to get out of the house.

But finally, they hit mid-week before the day of the official, company-wide Friday launch, and they’d spent all morning collecting confirmations that the shipments had been successfully delivered.

Until.

“Fuck!” An unfamiliar, sickening sense of panic burst in Patrick’s gut at the sight of the email in his inbox.

“Oh, my god, what?” David demands, having dropped and shattered a bottle of body milk at Patrick’s shout. “What’s happening?”

“The payment for the last shipment wasn’t received and they’re sending the boxes back.”

“What?!” David grabs at the laptop, eyes wide. “No! No no no no no no, that will take days! That’s product for the entire Western division of the motels, they need to be there by Friday!”

“I know that, David!” he shouted, the panic gripping him overwhelming the guilt he feels when David winces away from him. “I’m going to call them, this is ridiculous. We set up an EFT payment system with them last week, they’re supposed to just send us an electronic payment request to confirm!”

It was then, when Patrick grabbed his bag to find the contact information for the courier company, that he finds it. Sitting unassuming amongst his meticulously organized paperwork is the EFT form.

“Fuck,” he breathes, hands shaking as he pulls it out of the bag, willing this to be some sort of bad dream. “Fuck!”

“Is that...?”

He can’t even bear to look at David. The cold wash of panic has settled like lead in his stomach. “I didn’t send it. I forgot send the form.”

Patrick manages to look up, and watches as absolute panic fills David’s face before, amazingly, a stony calm settles over him. Like he’s shut down completely, or Patrick has absorbed all of the anxiety in the room.

“We have a contract,” Patrick manages to get out. “We said we’d supply everything by Friday. David, if we can’t get everything to the motels in time, the investors are going to want to hire somebody else and cut us loose. We’ve already sunk everything into contracts with our vendors, we’ll never be able to sell that much product through our store.”

He shouldn’t be saying it. Vocalizing these concerns are only going to make David panic, too, and he’s not in a position to ease his fears. But David only blinks at him with that same eery demeanour.

Patrick isn’t a crier, a fact David has vocally complained about when he fails to shed a tear at his favourite romcoms, but they spring to his eyes, now. He’s bankrupted them. He’s been snippy and critical towards David all week, and then turned around and fucked up their entire lives with his carelessness.

“Give me the form. And the contact information for the courier. Patrick, give me the-“

He scrambles, rifling through his bag in a panic to find the invoice that they’d sent, along with the form that Patrick had so stupidly forgotten to return to them.

He wants to curl up into a ball and never look up again, hide his face at the shame of being the one to ruin their business. They’d probably lose the house, too. And David would resent him. Even if they didn’t split up right away, their marriage couldn’t survive this. David could never trust him again. He’d tried his best to be someone that David could rely on. But between hiding his past with Rachel, lying to his parents, and now this? Surely he’d ruined whatever trust he’d managed to build.

“Um, hi. I just got an email that said you were cancelling our shipment? And I’m just like, very confused, because we were supposed to get an electronic payment request. Right. Mmhmm. Yes, I know that, but we set in our EFT form two weeks ago. I’m literally looking at the tracking info online and it says it was delivered to your offices, did you not receive it?”

Patrick’s head shoots up. David, of course, is not looking at any sort of delivery confirmation because no tracking information exists, but Patrick watches him pace the floor of the Apothecary, hands gesticulating wildly.

“Ugh. This is the second time the postal service has done this to us. We definitely sent it. I...right, no, I totally get that you need an original signature on the form. Where are your head offices? Amazing. If I can get you just like a physical cheque within an hour, can you complete the shipment? And then I’ll send like a thousand EFT forms to your office to make sure you get it this time and we can do all future payments electronically.” Patrick watches as he tilts his head back, eyes closed. “Oh my god, thank you so much. Susan, was it? You’re fantastic. I will have that cheque to you in an hour.”

He hangs up the phone and immediately dials again, holding up his finger when Patrick opens his mouth to speak. “Please tell me you’re not at the airport yet. Thank fuck. There was a fuck-up with one of the courier companies we’re trying to do business with to get our products to the motels. I’m going to e-transfer you the money for the courier costs for the store and I need you to write a cheque and hand-deliver it to their head office, I’ll text you the address. Um, how about I don’t complain anymore about all of the ‘samples’ you try every time you come to visit? No. No! Absolutely not. Ugh, a medium-sized gift basket and I chauffeur mom around next Christmas. Mmkay, deal.”

He hangs up again, frantically typing away at his phone. The wait is excruciating, but after several long moments, David’s shoulders sag, and he lets out a breath. “Okay. The courier has put a hold on the return shipment. Alexis is still in Toronto for that Interflix thing, and I’ve just transferred the money to her. She’s going to bring a cheque to their head office, and once it clears, they’ll put the shipment through. The woman on the phone said if we can get the cheque there in an hour, the shipment will go out today, be delivered tomorrow morning at the latest, which still leaves plenty of time to unbox them for the Friday launch. Alexis says the address for the office is like three blocks away from her hotel, so it’s all covered.”

The breath he doesn’t realize he’s been holding rushes out of him all at once, and then he’s bent over the counter, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes to try and hide his sobs. Patrick is not a crier, but the weight of it all, of the stress and lack of sleep from the last few weeks has come crashing down on him all at once.

“Oh, honey.” David is there, rubbing firm circles into his back. It takes a few tugs, but Patrick lets himself be gathered into David’s arms, his face tucked into the crook of his neck. “Shh. Everything’s okay, we got it all figured out. It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes. “David, I’m so, so sorry. I forgot to send the form. I almost ruined everything, David. We could have lost the business and it would have been all my fault.”

“Hush, everything’s fine. We’ve been so busy. You’ve been so busy. Honestly, I’m shocked we haven’t had more disasters than this to deal with.” David rocks him gently, his cheek settling onto the top of Patrick’s head. “We got it all worked out, it’s fine. I know, it’s a lot. You’ve done so much, Patrick. None of this would have been possible without you. It was one form. It’s okay.”

David pulls away, ducking his head to meet Patrick’s downcast gaze and rubbing his hands up and down the length of Patrick’s arms. “Now, why don’t you take a little walk, get out of the store for a bit while I get things ready before Jocelyn gets here, okay? Clean up the broken glass, finish replenishing stock. You’ve been cooped up here too long, you need a break.”

He doesn’t deserve a break. He doesn’t deserve to step out and cool off while David keeps working, not after the mess he’s made. But David is already turning him by the shoulders and steering him towards the door.

He’ll just take a minute, collect himself, and then they can get back to work.

* * *

The stack of paperwork in his bag is lighter than it has been in three weeks, but it feels like it’s made of brick. He can barely even lift his feet to walk, and settles for shuffling into the house, dropping onto the entryway bench.

He’s been near tears all day, even after David got the call that the payment had been received and the shipment was on its way, and after the EFT form had been stuffed into an envelope and David had taken it to the post office directly.

The nearness of it all, how close he had been to fucking it up, the heaviness of his failure, the guilt about how poorly he’s treated David only to have him swoop in and save him all accumulated to an almost unbearable weariness and...grief.

David steps into the house behind him, somehow still so perfectly dressed and styled and handsome despite the stress of the last few weeks. The last few hours.

“I’ll make dinner,” Patrick offers, exhausted by the very thought but knowing he had a lot of grovelling to do. “You go and relax, I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

Once they’d eaten, and had a chance to unwind, Patrick would apologize properly. Beg his forgiveness. Maybe, if he was lucky, David wouldn’t be too angry and would let Patrick curl up next to him in bed tonight. Would hold him and promise him that everything was forgiven.

He can’t bear to look up, focusing instead on getting his shoes off, but in his frustration this morning he’s tied the laces too tight and they won’t slide off and-

“Hey.” He squeezes his eyes shut, knowing such a thing as simple as his fucking shoes is about to make him burst into tears. He hears the soft rustle of fabric, and then David’s hands are on his knees, his ankles, untying the laces with nimble fingers and working the shoes off of his aching feet.

When he manages to collect himself and open his eyes, David is kneeling in front of him, a soft expression on his face.

“C’mon. Let’s get you into a nice, hot bath.”

“Dinner,” he protests weakly, but David only shakes his head and pulls him up from the bench, pushing his bag off of his shoulder and letting it thud to the floor.

“Mmkay, if there was ever a time to shirk our heathy eating initiative, it’s tonight. Now, you are going to have a long, relaxing bath, and I am going to order from that Italian place in Elmdale, and we are going to pay an extraordinary amount of money to have it delivered all the way here, and it’s definitely going to be worth it.”

He wants to protest, it should be _him_ compensating for his fuck up today and taking care of David, but he’s marched to the bathroom all the same and eased out of his clothing while the tub fills up.

Their bathroom is constantly filled with test products that they’ve received from local vendors (now that they’re at a point where they’re actually being approached instead of begging others for business), and David drops something that smells like cedarwood into the water before gesturing him in.

The water is almost too hot, and the instant he’s submerged his body starts to loosen. David presses a kiss to the top of his head and is gone.

He isn’t sure exactly how long he stays there, grateful that the heat is starting to ease the tension is his back and shoulders that have come with weeks of being hunched over a desk, but eventually the guilt of relaxing forces him out of the tub.

David has taken his clothes and hung his robe on the back of the door. It was a gift from last Christmas, David insisting it was more of a gift for himself, that he wouldn’t have to look at Patrick’s ratty old robe hanging in the bathroom anymore. The embroidered ‘P’ script on the chest said otherwise.

It’s still the softest thing he’s ever put on his body, and it reminds him of the kind of luxury that comes with living with David Rose.

Everything in their lives is a meticulous choice. A few months back, the coffee maker from his college days had finally bit the dust, and David had spent hours online searching for one that went with the ‘aesthetic’ of their kitchen. It had always baffled him, why they couldn’t just go out and buy a new machine from literally anywhere, but when David’s new purchase arrived, polished stainless steel and gleaming, it looked far better than Patrick’s bulky old pot ever had.

Everything about the house was stunning and hand-selected by David (with some veto power on his part, on the rare occasion he felt strongly about something). When his parents had visited for the first time after the renovations, his mom had actually gasped at the sight of it. ‘It’s like you’re living in a home decor magazine,’ she had said, and Patrick had to agree. It felt like living in a hotel, in the best possible way. Everything was designed to be inviting, functional, and comfortable. David put more thought into where the couch should be placed in their living room than Patrick had put into his university major.

David puts in the work, and he gets to reap the benefits. He suddenly can’t remember if he’s ever expressed that out loud to David, how much he loves their home. Their lives.

“Done already?” While he’s been guilt-soaking in the bathtub, David has laid a towel out over the bed and lit a few of the candles they sell at the store, the ones with names like ‘calm’ and ‘restore.’ Patrick doesn’t know what ‘restoring’ is supposed to smell like, but bringing that up to David had only ever earned him an eye roll. “Lay down.”

“I thought...what about dinner?”

David waves his hand dismissively, taking Patrick by the shoulders again and steering him to sit on the edge of the bed. “It’s going to take a while. We have plenty of time.”

“For what?”

He doesn’t answer, just pushes Patrick back against the mattress, lifting his legs and settling them on the bed. He produces a large foil packet, delicately tearing open the top and pulling the layers apart.

“Is that a condom?”

David shoots him a dry look. “While I’m flattered you think I’d need one this size, no. It’s a sheet mask. Now stop talking and tilt your head back.”

“David-“

“Shh.” The mask is cold on his skin, especially after he’s still flushed from the bath, but the smell is pleasantly neutral and the cooling sensation is nice. “We’ve had a tense few weeks, and now it’s time to relax.”

“How is putting a ghost mask on my face relaxing?”

He can’t see it, his eyes are closed, but he knows in his gut that David is smirking. “‘Kay, it’s not a _ghost mask,_ it’s a deep hydration brightening facial treatment, and it’s relaxing because you’re supposed to shut your mouth and let it work.” There’s a quiet flick of the light switch, and when Patrick cracks an eye open, he finds himself alone in the dark bedroom, illuminated only by the dancing light of the candles.

He suspects it’s far more to do with the hot bath and the comfortable bed than the mask, but he finds himself drifting off almost immediately, lulled by the flickering light. When he comes to, it’s to David gently peeling the mask from his face, his gentle fingers rubbing the residue into Patrick’s skin.

“David?” he slurs, groggy with exhaustion. “Sorry, did I fall asleep?”

“Don’t be sorry. If waiting until you’re asleep is the only way I can get you to do some decent skincare, I’m fine with that.” Patrick tries to rise, but David’s firm hands are on his shoulders, holding him still. “Nope, not yet.” His hands slide downwards from his shoulders to his waist, gently tugging at the belt of his robe. Did David want to have sex? Patrick wasn’t sure he could even manage to get hard, he was so exhausted and emotionally drained, but he would be lucky if David ever wanted to sleep with him again after today, and so he’d have to muster some enthusiasm to at least get him off, if that’s what he wanted.

But David’s hands are already drifting back upwards, sliding his fingers under the collar of his robe and pushing it from his shoulders. With clumsy fingers, he goes to reach for David’s waistband, but his hands are brushed away, and he’s manhandled again, this time onto his stomach, his cheek pressed against the towel that has been so carefully laid over their bedspread. “David?”

“Shh. Just relax.” There’s a soft click of a lid, then the squirt of a bottle. He can hear as David rubs something between his palms. Lube, maybe? But they’ve never done anything like this before. Even their quickest, most impromptu encounters have always had some form of foreplay, not just David pushing him down onto the bed and pushing his fingers inside him. Fuck, was that what the bath was for? Was he supposed to take a hint and clean himself up for this? David was the king of communication when it came to their sex life, it seemed so unlikely that he would spring this on him. A wave of concern rolls through him, and he tries to push himself up.

“David?” He can hear the strain in his voice, the slight tendrils of panic, but then David’s warm hands settle onto his shoulders, easing him back down.

“Shh. It’s okay.” David’s grip on his shoulders stay firm, pressing more and more deeply into the tight muscles there, and then they’re sweeping downwards, down to his waist, then back up again. The heels of his hands dig into the skin along his spine, and he grunts, tensing.

That scent...it’s another familiar one, something that reminds him of the store. But it’s only when David’s hands come up to press almost painfully into his shoulders again that he gets a strong enough wave of it to place the smell. It’s the massage oil they’ve kept in stock since Singles Week.

David is giving him a massage.

It should have been obvious, what else would he have been doing? But he’s been holding his breath all evening, so strongly expecting some stern lecture or expression of David’s disappointment in him that it had never even occurred to him that the consequence of the biggest fuck-up of his professional career might only be a loving back rub from his husband.

Tears build in his eyes again, though now for an entirely different reason. Of all the things he was expecting, he couldn’t have anticipated this kindness or...grace. David had (almost) always been good to him, but he had never deserved it less. He buries his face into the bed beneath him, the pain from the firm press of David’s fingers slowly easing away as his muscles relax.

For all he knows, it goes on for hours, that firm, smooth slide of David’s hands over his body, down his legs, into the soles of his feet. By the time the doorbell sounds from downstairs, Patrick is melted into the mattress, not sure where his body ends and the bed beneath him begins.

“That’ll be dinner.” He feels David’s lips at the nape of his neck before the robe is being draped over his bare back. “Take as long as you need, honey. Just come downstairs when you’re ready.”

It takes an enormous amount of effort to pry himself up and into a seated position, but he manages to pull the robe on and tie the belt clumsily around his waist before padding heavily down the stairs.

David has put their dishes into bowls and has settled on the sofa to wait. At the sight of him, he stretches out a welcoming hand, and Patrick feels the urge to cry again.

While they eat, David digs his always-cold toes under Patrick’s thighs for warmth, giving him that little lopsided grin that he’s adored from the moment he saw it.

“Feeling better?” David asks shyly, and he can’t help but smile.

“Better than I have in weeks.”

“Mm. Pasta makes everything better.”

He laughs at that. “Sure. But not nearly as good as all the rest of it.”

He expects a coy smile, a wriggle of pride at the recognition, but David just raises a brow. “You mean the massage?”

“David...yes, I mean...yeah, the massage. But that..mask thing, the...the bath. The calls you made, letting me go for a walk to cool off...all of it.”

David waves a dismissive hand. “Hardly.”

“No, not ‘hardly.’ What you did for me tonight…David…”

He can’t even find the words to express his gratitude, and David seems uncomfortable that he’s even trying. Thanks to David, they’re no strangers to lengthy and thorough communication in their relationship, but vulnerability still doesn’t come easily to either one of them.

“It was seriously nothing. I just wish that I could have... I don’t know.”

“Could have what? I don’t know how you could have done anything better.”

“Of course I could have. I just don’t know how to do this sort of thing because...”

 _What sort of thing?_ Patrick wants to ask, but settles for what he hopes is the easier question for now. “Because?”

“Because I’m not you,” David says with a defeated sigh. When he offers nothing else, Patrick reaches out to rest a hand on his calf.

“Okay...”

“You don’t have a Patrick to like, talk you off a ledge when things get overwhelming. Or just be, like, logical when you’re blowing things out of proportion. And I don’t know how to do that for you. I’m not good at it. I’m too much like my mother, I just get riled up along with you.” David sighs again, his gaze downcast. “I know I’m...excessive, it just gets to me when I can’t be what you need when you’re always so...supportive. Of me.”

Patrick props his fork up in his bowl and sets it aside (on a coaster) so he can give David his full attention.

“What makes you think you’re not what I need?”

David raises a brow. “Um, all the reasons I just said?”

He slips his hand under the loose, cropped hem of David’s pants, rubbing circles into his skin. “David...you called that company today and saved my ass.”

“I lied over the phone. Not exactly an impressive skillset.”

“You got our whole Western shipment to the motels on time when I single-handedly almost fucked up the whole deal,” Patrick argues. “And tonight? When I was exhausted and ashamed and overwhelmed? You took care of me.”

“I forcefully introduced you to some semblance of self-care. Honestly, how long have you known me? This was long overdue.”

With a sigh, he physically removes the bowl from David’s hands, ignoring his strangled noise of protest.

“Put it-“

“On a coaster, I know.” He wraps his fingers around the back of David’s neck, pulling him in so their foreheads bend together, so close he can smell the woody scent of his husband’s cologne. “I might not get overwhelmed often, but I don’t know how to cope well with it, either. And admittedly, you have a lot of experience with having to cope with it.”

He feels more than hears David’s little huff of dismissal. “Putting a sheet mask on you doesn’t fix anything.”

“No, but forcing me to slow down and physically showing me that I was forgiven? It made it all feel more bearable,” he soothes. “You had a busy week, too, but you spent all night helping me relax. And god, that massage...”

He watches as David’s lips purse, a pleased little smile flitting across his face. “Mm?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, breathless. “I’ve been a mess today. I’ve been a mess for weeks. But you made everything okay, baby. You always make everything okay.”

David‘s hands come up to rest under the collar of his robe, the cool feel of his wedding rings seeping into his skin, and then they’re moving together, David’s palms moving along his shoulders and then rubbing large, soothing circles on his back as they kiss.

“I’m so sorry, David. I’ve been miserable to be around.”

“You were actually pretty good, until this last week,” he counters. “We’ve both been exhausted and stressed.” He presses soft kisses to his jaw, under his ear, along his temple. “But we’ve launched the expansion, the big part is over, and if our projections are right we can hire another person or two to help us manage if things continue to grow.”

They lay together for a long while, crammed together on the couch, David’s broad chest a warm and steady presence against his back.

“I really needed you today, David. I really, really needed you. And you came through. With everything. Nobody has ever taken care of me like you do.”

David doesn’t say anything, but Patrick feels the ripple of his chest as he tilts his head down to kiss the top of his head.

“I was planning on making you dinner and drinking enough coffee to keep myself awake long enough to beg your forgiveness for nearly fucking up our whole business. I thought if I was lucky, you’d tell me you forgave me but needed a bit of space to cool down. That was my best case scenario.”

David makes a noise of sympathy, arms tightening around him. “As sexy as it is when you beg, I’m really not interested in power dynamics outside of the bedroom. Have I ever made you feel like that before? That you have to beg for forgiveness when something goes wrong? Isn’t that what married people are supposed to do, cover each other’s asses? I think that must have been in the vows somewhere.”

He thinks of accidentally being outed to his parents, David scrambling around to smooth over the cracks, in the end still managing to give him a chance to come out on his own terms, in his own words, whilst simultaneously winning over the Brewers. Or not only agreeing to sub-in for a baseball game, but hitting a home run at the bottom of the ninth and winning the game. When the Rose family lost everything, it was David that got a job at the Blouse Barn, that posed as a lawyer and got a hefty cheque out of negotiating the sale of rights. That money gave the Roses a safety net, got them a car. Started the Rose Apothecary. He shouldn’t have been so surprised that his eternally anxious husband could solve just about anything in a moment when times were tough. 

“You’re so much more like Alexis than you think.”

“Ew! I was being sweet, and then you throw that in my face?”

He chuckles softly, rubbing circles into David’s knee. “I just mean...all those stories about her being trapped in palaces and smuggling herself out of countries... When there’s a real crisis, Alexis can fix just about anything. And so can you. Every single time I feel like everything is about to fall apart you just...swoop in and save the day. You might have a lot more anxiety about it, but you just...make it all okay.”

“Mm. Only you could word ‘being like Alexis’ like a compliment.”

“Well, you’re older. So maybe Alexis is the one who’s like you.”

“I don’t know what part of calling me ‘old’ you thought would improve this.” David presses his lips against Patrick’s neck to hide a smile.

“Add it to the list of things I’ve messed up today,” he grins, raising his hand over his shoulder to brush his fingers through David’s hair. He can’t believe that he’s already able to joke about this so soon, after his near-breakdown just a few hours ago. 

David’s ever-wandering hands make their way down his shoulders and into the neck of his robe. He can’t help but arch back into the touch.

“You’ve never made me feel like I had to earn anything, by the way. It’s just...been a rough week.”

“You,” David accuses gently, “have just built your whole identity around being Mr. Dependable. Always so afraid of disappointing people, letting people down. You’ll have to learn to be a fuck-up like the rest of us, it’s much easier to deal with.”

“You are not a fuck-up.”

“I’d need two hands at least just to count the things I’ve fucked up today.”

“Nothing compares to what you’ve done right,” he fires back, tilting his head back to rest against David’s shoulders. “I just hate the thought of letting you down. Letting everyone down, but especially you. You’ve been let down by enough people in your life.” He thinks of the look on David’s face at Rachel’s surprise appearance at the barbecue. Even all these years later, he’s still haunted by it. “Me included. And I know if you’d nearly ruined our business like I just did today...I wouldn’t have been as gentle. Or generous. I’m ashamed to admit that, but I know it’s true. And I would have felt horrible about it afterwards, but-“

“Honey, stop. Now you’re just spiralling and feeling guilty about something that didn’t even happen. I like taking care of you, even though I’m not always good at it. I like knowing that I could make you feel better, or take away some of the stress you’ve been feeling. Because I know what it feels like, when you bring me dinner in bed after a rough day or hold me after a panic attack. If I can make you feel even a little bit the way I do after you take care of me...”

It’s undoubtedly the exhaustion making him so weepy, but he’s blinking back tears already, and the sound of David’s breath hitching in his ear isn’t helping. “God, I love you,” he breathes. “Not a day goes by that I don’t know how lucky I am to have you.”

“Is this you trying to be extra nice to make up for being a dick this week?” David asks, burying his face into the crook of Patrick’s neck. “Because it’s working.”

He laughs, a bit more forcefully than necessary, just relieved by the break in tension. “Three years of marriage, baby. I know you well enough by now to know plying you with compliments always works.” And then, a bit more gently, “I’m sorry. For being a dick this week. I was stressed and I took it out on you. You didn’t deserve it.”

“We were both stressed and snippy. I know it came from a place of wanting the business to succeed. And it...means everything to me that you care about the business, our business, as much as I do. Even if I have to endure an occasional open mic night as a result.”

“Mm, you suffer so much,” he responds dryly. David’s hands have wandered back up to his shoulders to finish off whatever tension was left, which makes it incredibly difficult to truly respond with any real bite. “Much as I want to continue this, I don’t think I can keep my eyes open any longer. Care to join me in bed, unless you’re going to banish me to the sofa tonight?”

“I’ll save that for another day. Depends on what song you pick for the next open mic night. So bed, for now.”

* * *

When Patrick wakes, David is still, unsurprisingly, fast asleep and sprawled out haphazardly on the other side of the bed. His hair is a mess, his mouth open and drooling. It’s an endearing look, especially compared to their early relationship when David wouldn’t even let Patrick see him without his hair done.

It’s a sign of the intimacy between them that’s grown throughout the years, that David will now throw on the closest of Patrick’s hoodies in the morning and trudge down the stairs, invading his space wherever he might be. He’ll be at the stove making breakfast and David will melt around him from behind, or climb onto the sofa beside him and set his head into Patrick’s lap when he’s watching the morning news.

And even while, from the outside (or on the inside of David’s brain), it may seem like Patrick is the one always taking care of David, he knows it’s reciprocated in equal measure.

Because David just makes life better. He has never been more himself than he is when they’re together. Patrick may keep David from spiralling on a regular basis, but when things felt like they were about to fall apart, David was the one providing the safety net.

“I’m used to picking up the pieces by myself,” David had told him once, when they’d started dating. And he was right. Patrick had done that himself, after countless break-ups with Rachel and pervasive feelings of failure and unhappiness.

But David had held him together last night, when it felt like he was on the verge of shattering. As he had done before, and undoubtedly would do again.

And it’s only because of all of the care and attention that he received last night that he has the energy to slide out of bed and throw some cinnamon buns in the oven. David, with his artisan tastes, always has some frozen dough stashed in the freezer from the farmer’s market.

Bringing his husband pre-prepared cinnamon buns and tea in bed hardly made up for all of the things David did for him last night, but the nice thing was that he didn’t need to make it up to him. He had already banked plenty of good will over the years in a thousand little ways, and David had done the same.


End file.
